


Direct-to-Video

by myracingthoughts



Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25452616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: An elevator, a box of trashy VHS tapes, and a little banter.Those biceps (and everything else she was shamelessly imagining) really did a number on Darcy’s critical thinking skills.9/16: Added a bonus chapter.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Darcy Lewis Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927495
Comments: 64
Kudos: 256
Collections: Darcy Lewis Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic checks off box A3: Meet Cute on my Darcy Lewis Bingo card.

Wiping beads sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, Darcy Lewis was in the home stretch of a critical mission.

Cardboard box teetering in her grip — it wasn’t so much the weight, but the shape that made it awkward to carry — she tried to make it through the lobby as quickly as she could, avoiding eye contact with everyone she passed. Part shame, part attempt to make it upstairs without spilling its contents all over the floor. Hence the time-sensitive nature.

Seeing an open elevator in front of her, and without the extra hand to press the call button, she called out ahead, “Hold the door!”

Darcy sighed in relief as whoever was inside took pity on her, and the elevator dinged open again. She could barely see beyond the box in her grasp, but there seemed to only be one other person inside. Good, she could tuck that flush far away from her cheeks and save the awkward conversation for another day.

“Sixty-seventh floor, please, JARVIS,” Darcy huffed, unable to reach the panel as the AI confirmed her floor.

Backing herself gingerly through the doors until she hit the wall, she offered sincere thanks to the nameless stranger who’d saved her the embarrassment of having to call the security guard over to help (again).

“Are those… tapes?” The growl hit her ears in all the right places, a pleasant tingly sensation drifting down her spinal column.

Her nameless saviour was either an established, and likely very successful, phone sex operator or had a nasty smoking habit. Still, somehow neither of those options turned her off the way she might have assumed. 

But before she could manage to ask him to read the phone book for her, he continued, “Please tell me you’re using the ribbon for kindling or upcycling the covers to sell on Etsy or something.”

A cluck passed her lips before she could stop it, already tripping over her words at how exactly she’d decided to explain this. It was inevitable. She was Darcy Lewis in a Tower owned by Tony Stark — she was never going to make it upstairs without humiliating herself in some way. She was pretty sure it was in the fine print of the rental agreement.

And honestly, she probably wasn’t going to get her deposit back anyway, so it might have been a fair trade.

“Do you know how many movies aren’t available on streaming services?” she replied somewhat indignantly. “Dozens, there’s dozens of them. Plus, a girl’s allowed to have a hobby.”

His chuckle was just as pleasant as the voice, and she shifted slightly to sneak a glance at her fellow passenger. 

And _boy_ , did the visage match the voice. 

He was clearly the type that cared about what he looked like and didn’t just let his cheekbones do all the talking — though they gladly would have. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, and he had just enough stubble to cast that perfect five o’clock shadow day-round.

She’d seen him around before, heard the office chatter, watched him strut around flaunting those biceps like they weren’t lethal weapons. God, what she wouldn’t give to have a little (or not so little) one-on-one time. Were t-shirts a size too small the uniform around these parts? Because if so, whoever wrote that into SHIELD law definitely deserved a raise. 

Here’s looking at you, Steven Grant Rogers.

“Which is why you’re hauling a box full of VHS tapes up to your place?”

She wasn’t about to tell him it had taken trips to four separate thrift stores across the city to find every trashy straight-to-VHS flick she was currently hauling, so she settled on a crisp response that was slightly less mortifying.

“Precisely.”

He barked a laugh, canines flashing and settling into a perfect smirk.

_That mouth._

That mouth had the potential to get her into so much trouble.

“Sweetheart, you’re living in a tower owned by the richest tech giant in Manhattan,” he crooned in pure Brooklyn, leaning against the elevator’s wall. “I’m surprised he even allowed you anything beyond whatever 4K Smart TV he’s got hooked up in every room. Are you even old enough to know what a VCR is?”

Bristling at the condescension, she shot him a half-hearted glare. He was hot, but if he wanted to play the age game, she was more than happy to oblige.

“I’m plenty old enough, thank you very much. Can tie my own shoes and everything. Need a demo, big guy?” she shot back a little harsher than she intended.

He didn’t seem put off by her tone. Instead, she watched his eyes drift up and down in reverent assessment. Darcy may have quietly made notes about where they lingered below the neck. 

“I don’t think I got your name.”

This was not the elevator ride she’d been expecting, but somehow it was precisely the one she needed. Thank you, universe.

“Darcy Lewis, assistant science monkey extraordinaire.”

“And sharp wit to boot.”

She smiled at the compliment, “And you?”

“Brock Rumlow,” he replied just as the elevator started to slow. “Do you need help getting all that to your place?”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to unwrap the goods, hm?”

Eyebrows raised as he choked on a cough, it was clearly not the response he was expecting. 

“I, uh—“

“The tapes, Brock. You just want to see what tapes I have. Reminds you of the good ol’ days or something,” she explained quickly, not wanting him to think she was roping him into an HR meeting. Why make it a meeting? She would happily handle fraternization with Brock on her own. “But if you’re offering…”

He stuck a toned arm across the gap, holding the doors open as she gracefully slunk through and led the way.

“I can take that for you,” he offered, resting a hand on the box, and she found herself lost for a moment, staring blankly at those warm, brown eyes. “So you can unlock the door?”

“Right,” she said with a shaky breath. Her turn to be dazed as she handed him the box he probably could have balanced in one large palm. “Thank you.”

_Get yourself together, Darcy. And maybe keep it in your pants while you’re at it._

“It’s nothing.”

She wasn’t far from the elevators, quickly leading Brock around the corner as she second-guessed her decision to take him up on his offer. When was the last time she even vacuumed? How many dishes were sitting in the kitchen sink at this very moment — or worse, how many take-out containers? Was he going to get the wrong idea? Or maybe the right one?

God, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d brought a man back to her place. Clearly, she was out of practice (on a few fronts).

“Forgive the mess. I swear I’m not a total slob,” Darcy explained. “Mostly.”

Eyebrow quirked, he didn’t reply, giving her a chance to unlock the door with her keycard. She did a quick sweep of the room before she let him in, thanking Odin she didn’t still have her drying rack full of unmentionables in the living room.

“Where do you want it?”

“On the counter’s fine,” she replied levelly, though the response would have also answered another question. “Thanks again for the help.”

That was it. She going to need a cold shower after this.

“Yeah, well. Curiosity got the best of me,” Brock rumbled as he peeked into the box, eyes pouring over the colourful covers. “Didn’t know we had a resident film buff.”

Well, that was a stretch, especially considering the low-brow content currently sitting in full view. But who was Darcy to correct him? Those biceps (and everything else she was shamelessly imagining) really did a number on her critical thinking skills.

“Hoping for an invite to my future movie marathon? It’s a hot ticket, I hear,” she joked. 

The heat in her face multiplied with his gruff chuckle.

“Well, I’ve never been much into movies, so maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

The twinkle in his eyes gave her pause, internal dialogue dead in its tracks at the thought of him having the same ideas. Was he playing ball? What kind of person wasn’t into movies? Should she have let this uncultured man into her apartment? 

No, it must have been a line.

Darcy wasn’t about to deny that she really had just invited a total stranger over to watch movies with her because he was attractive. Her recent drought had set the bar that low, huh? 

But her mind was too busy brimming with potential to even consider shame. The couch was big enough for the two of them, she’d bet. And if he accepted the invite, there could be a record number of terrible VHS slasher flicks playing unwatched in the background. 

“I’d be happy to,” she offered. “Do you have a cell phone or still on a landline? Maybe a rotary phone?”

She held her hand open palm up, wiggling her fingers expectantly. The smirk was back with a vengeance as Brock slipped his cell phone out of his back pocket.

“Smartass,” he shot as he unlocked and handed it to her.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Mr. _Are You Even Old Enough_ ,” she quipped as she typed in her details. “Did I pass your test?”

“That has yet to be seen,” Brock said in a teasing tone, taking his phone back and glancing at the contact card. “Though your emoji use is questionable at best.”

“I like cats, OK?” Darcy shrugged. “Anyway, Friday at 7.”

Pulling his hand away from the tape he’d been absentmindedly toying with, he nodded, “Sounds great. I’ll bring pizza? Maybe I can teach you something there.”

Mission marked a success (extra successful if you counted the bonus pizza), she showed him to the door. Shamelessly watching him walk away, he was just about to turn down the hall when she called out, “Oh, and Brock?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t forget your bifocals.”

She’d say anything to hear that laugh and see that smile again. A broad grin plastered on his face, eye crinkles and all, he shook his head and drifted out of sight before calling back. 

“Goodnight, Darcy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for Darcy Lewis Bingo and checks off square R1 - “Yes, I did.”

It was 6:45 pm on Friday night when Darcy Lewis started panicking.

Every inch of her skin itched. From her shoulder to her elbows, ears to chest. It took everything inside her not to claw the side of her neck with her own perfectly polished talons. 

Not in a shellfish allergy kind of way; more of a restless, frantic feeling. 

Brock Rumlow would be here in less than fifteen minutes —because let’s be real, he’s a SHIELD guy, and he was going to be early— for movie night, and Darcy had no idea what to do with herself. 

A whirlwind of questions was running through her mind: Was she dressed alright? Did she put in too much dry shampoo? Was the fridge stocked? Would he judge her for her taste in wine? Did he even drink wine?

As (mostly) level-headed as she managed to be in their brief elevator rendez-vous, tonight would be edging into _date_ territory, even if it wasn’t explicitly in the invitation. That dreaded four-letter word that still sent shame shivers down her spine in those minutes right before she fell asleep, thinking back on all those awkward encounters and terrible matches. 

If it had stopped at that, Darcy probably would have been OK, but date territory with _Brock_ also meant they were one step closer to ‘Netflix and Chill’ territory. 

And— holy shit, would he even know what Netflix and Chill was? Did the same rules apply? Was he all old-school and chivalrous? He _was_ a tease, and he was definitely flirting with her, but it was hard to know whether she’d be the awkward horndog in the room wondering when he’d stop looking at the screen and maybe make eyes with her.

A knock on the door sent her scrambling to the mirror. Lipstick, eyeliner, no stray toilet paper on the bottom of her foot? She was golden.

Darcy took a deep breath and pulled open the door to find Brock carry a pizza box and that perfect smile. Sunglasses hung from his collar, and he smelled like plush leather and warm, inviting aftershave. It took her a beat too long to greet him out loud, brain a little fried as she took him in. 

How did he always look that good??

“Are you checking tickets at the door? I think I’m on the guest list,” that whisky voice crooned, teeth flashing in the hallway lights.

Darcy couldn’t help but return the smile, “Hmm… I don’t know if I should let you in. You look different than your profile picture.”

His eyebrows rose, mouth slightly ajar, “Are you calling me old?”

Pulling the door open extra wide for him, she snorted at her already having hit a soft spot.

She couldn’t help herself from adding (filterlessly), “According to Cap’s standards, you don’t look a day over ninety-two. Age is just a number anyway, right?”

It was then that Darcy noticed the pizza he was carrying was in a plain white box. The kind that came from a place with no name on the door, possibly with an alleyway entrance. The kind she’d probably have to trade her first-born child to get an address out of a loyal devotee. It smelled damn good, though. Probably good enough to justify inviting him over all on its own, frankly.

Brock _would_ be a pizza snob.

She reached for the goods before he pulled back with a smirk, “Nuh-uh. You made an old man joke. Who says you get a slice?”

Darcy pouted, taking his coat instead and hanging it on the coat rack.

“Nice place,” he commented with a playful lilt, fingering the pink flamingo magnet on her fridge —one of dozen thrift store finds she’d racked up over the years. She could see the way his eyes swept the room, looking a little like a mother visiting her teenage son’s dorm. 

Honestly, the aesthetic was halfway to poor college student as it was, so he wasn’t exactly wrong.

But even so, she wasn’t about to tell him he was right.

“Not all of us operate on danger pay, buddy. Or rent control,” she chided, brushing her shoulder against his for effect. “What do you want to drink? Wine, beer, soda?”

“Beer,” he said, eyebrow cocked like it was the only correct answer. “Who drinks wine with pizza?”

He leaned himself against the kitchen island, elbows on the laminate. Darcy was pretty sure his biceps had biceps —not that she was complaining, because _damn _, that view.__

__“Actual Italians, probably,” Darcy snarked, to which Brock huffed out a laugh._ _

__“Smartass.”_ _

__The kitchen was narrow, and Brock was decidedly not, so she had to slide past him to the fridge. Darcy didn’t miss the trailing brush of his fingers across her waist as she did, warmth spreading to her cheeks before she could tamp it down. It was respectful by all counts —demure, even— just a hint of a tease._ _

__It was all she needed to know tonight would be a game that two could play at. Grabbing a pair of bottles, she pushed one into his grasp before scrounging for the cactus figurine on the windowsill._ _

__Brock shot her a confused look before she revealed the bottle opener on the bottom._ _

__“Cute and practical,” Darcy explained with a smile as she popped off the caps. “And better than using your bare hands.”_ _

__He shrugged unperturbed like he’d done it before —probably even as a party trick— but tipped his bottle to hers with _clink_._ _

__“Cheers to that,” he replied, taking a swig. “So, what’s on the bill tonight?”_ _

__Darcy reached over to grab the battered VHS cover, now empty, and watched as Brock flipped it in his hands. His eyes glazed over the description on the back, corners of his lips pulling up with every line. As if the neon monstrosity on the front cover wasn’t cheesy enough for him._ _

__“ _Virtual Combat_? This must be older than you,” he said with a touch of awe._ _

__“Listen, it has everything a good movie night movie should: awful fights, even worse special effects, and if you think this dumpster fire’s script was its only redeeming quality, you’re in for a trip!” Darcy couldn’t keep the stupid grin off her face._ _

__And despite his feigned confusion, she could see his lip twitch in response before he smoothed it out again. Brock stared at her, amused by her excitement._ _

__“This is what you do in your spare time? Watch terrible movies?”_ _

__“ _And_ add colour commentary while it’s playing, but uh, yes. A good chunk of my life has been spent like this,” Darcy admitted with a shrug, taking a sip of her beer. _ _

__“Well, you did say this was a hot ticket,” he mused into his beer. “I guess you do this with all the guys, then.”_ _

___All the guys_? Darcy could have snorted, but instead was taken aback by the comment. Did he really think she was some sort of guy magnet or was he just poking fun?_ _

__“Wait—“Darcy started, a little flustered. “I, I didn’t mean like _that_.”_ _

__If she was honest, he was the first guy who’d even been in her place since she moved into the Tower —not counting the Stark Industries movers. Or Steve, but that was that _one_ time, when he _happened_ to misplace that sweater of his she totally didn’t snuggle with on the couch, drunk._ _

__Nope. Totally normal Friday night._ _

__Brock chuckled as she grabbed plates and napkins, looking to him for approval before opening the pizza box. Darcy gave her best puppy dog eyes as she asked, “Am I _allowed_ to have some again? I even plied you with beer.”_ _

__“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he said teasingly._ _

__They settled down on the couch with their plates. Darcy got the VCR setup, and the screen flashed to the token nineties FBI warning. It was a slightly nostalgia-inducing, in a sitting in your parent’s basement watching Blockbuster rentals kind of way._ _

__But Darcy was _distracted_. Distracted was actually an understatement._ _

__It started with his knee brushing hers, jolting her slightly. Enough of a shift to cause her to be a whole lot closer to that very form-fitting black shirt he had on. Any closer and she’d practically be in his lap._ _

__She could feel the laughter rumble in his chest as he critiqued the actors’ form during stunts. And all Darcy could think was, _god, he smells amazing_. It wasn’t long before his arm draped the back of the couch, thumb brushing circles against her shoulder._ _

__Where was she supposed to put her hands? Was on his knee too forward? Was on her lap too reserved?_ _

__As much as she was enjoying it, the thrill and the warmth of being close to the specimen she let her through her door, there was that nagging voice in the back of her brain, making her a little skittish._ _

__Getting another slice of pizza would be a good distraction, she decided. Maybe it would make her mind a little less fuzzy. Darcy reluctantly pushed off the couch and headed to the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen barstool. The last slice stared her in the face, lonesome and solitary in that greasy cardboard box. It was oh so tempting._ _

__Darcy’s eyes darted to Brock, too immersed in the TV to look back at her._ _

__Maybe he left the last slice for her? Was it rude to take the last piece? Who knows if he’d even share where he dot it —that was assuming she’d make it past the first date. Was this a date? That was still up in the air. Before she could ponder the moral dilemma, the cheesy slice was folded in her hand._ _

__“Did you just steal the last slice of pizza?” Brock asked, slinking up from the couch to (hopefully) return his plate._ _

__The delicious morsel was already in her mouth by the time he piped up. Well, if she was going to do it, she might as well own it._ _

__Darcy made sure to put on her most triumphant face as she took another generous bite, “Yes, I did.”_ _

__His entire face seemed to curve into a smile, crows feet sprouting from the corners of his eyes and dimples in full force. “God,” he sighed as she swallowed her bite. “You’re perfect.”_ _

__Darcy almost dropped the slice, eyes wide as she processed what he’d just said. No, it was definitely what she _hallucinated_ him saying, she convinced herself as she put her plate on the kitchen island. _ _

__There was no way she heard him right._ _

__“I’m what?”_ _

__He leaned forward, spinning her in place, so his hands were on her knees as he stared straight into her soul._ _

__“You’re perfect.”_ _

__That was all Darcy needed to hear for her to not-so-gently tip her head up and close to the gap lips-first, pizza grease and all. Soft lips and the taste of spearmint. This was a guy that knew what he was here for. Thank you, Frigga. His arm snaked around her, leaning on the island as he pulled her closer. Her fingers were too busy trailing the planes of his chest, quickly found even over his shirt._ _

__He caught one with his own, lacing their fingers as they came up for air._ _

__“You’re not so bad yourself,” she breathed, feeling the flush across her face._ _

__Brock was still catching his breath, looking pretty pleased with himself as he looked down at her with those big brown eyes. He chuckled, “Was this your plan all along? Rope me in with awful movies and then suck face instead?”_ _

__“My, my, Mr. Rumlow. I do declare you’re smarter than you look,” Darcy drawled, punctuating her words with light pokes to his chest. “But seriously, you’re going to tell me you weren’t interested at _all_?”_ _

__She already knew the answer. He wouldn’t have brought the good pizza if he wasn’t interested. That was practically the rule. But it was nice to hear it out loud._ _

__“Sweetheart, have you seen you? I was more than interested, but I didn’t think you were the daddy problem type,” he smirked._ _

__“Oh, that’s your type, is it?” She shot back with her own grin. “Nah, I’m just big into vintage.”_ _

__He pouted, leaning down to nip her neck playfully. His lips peppered kisses across the smooth skin there, but Darcy’s mind was still stuck on one last quip before she’d shut up and take him back to the couch for more canoodling._ _

__“Hey, what’s the ’90s version of ‘Netflix and Chill?’”_ _

__Brock choked a laugh, “I feel like that question is a trap.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I needed a fluffy little outlet (the COVID angst is real, friends), so I’m back with a bonus chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to all you lovely people who subscribed to this one-shot. You are the real winners here!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first attempt at Taserbones! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are loved and cherished.  
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/), where I post comic book content, work updates, and behind-the-scenes commentary.


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